Two weeks passed.

  Two long, silent weeks.

  Samye traveled alone, moving through cracked roads and overgrown pathways that once belonged to peaceful towns. Now, they were empty—devoid of life, warmth, or even the sound of conversation.

  Only the wind walked beside him.

  During the day, he saw nothing but abandoned houses, burnt farms, and broken signboards. The silence followed him everywhere, like the world itself was holding its breath.

  But at night—

  The roads came alive with monsters wearing uniforms.

  Armored government trucks thundered past, carrying chained prisoners and sealed metal crates.

  Mini-militia convoys followed close behind, loaded with stolen food, supplies, and terrified civilians.

  Samye stayed hidden in the shadows.

  When the world slept, he moved.

  He learned to sneak quietly, slipping behind the trucks and snatching whatever scraps of food he could find—dry bread, half-eaten packs, leftover military rations.

  It wasn’t much.

  But it kept him alive.

  Every time he ate alone, a familiar ache twisted inside him:

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  …Aren would’ve complained about the taste.

  …Aren would’ve laughed and forced me to share.

  …Aren would’ve said this was the most exciting dinner ever.

  Then the grave appeared in Samye’s mind—

  cold, lonely, silent.

  His fist clenched until his knuckles turned white.

  He closed his eyes and forced the memory aside, continuing down the empty road.

  As he moved deeper into the world, he saw things he wished he hadn’t.

  On one road, two villagers beaten by militia soldiers over a dropped crate.

  On another, a group of people screaming at each other, fighting for the last bucket of clean water.

  Further ahead, a group of government officers capturing a terrified ability-manifesting child as the parents begged and cried.

  Heroes were nowhere.

  Humanity was nowhere.

  Only greed.

  Only power.

  Only hunger.

  Everyone—government, militia, rogue terrorists—wanted the same thing:

  Anyone with an ability.

  Children, adults, elders—no one was spared.

  They were weapons to be owned, traded, or broken.

  Samye watched silently from the shadows.

  His jaw tightened.

  His body tensed.

  He hated it.

  Not just the suffering.

  Not just the cruelty.

  He hated the truth of it:

  Humanity’s greatest enemy was humanity itself.

  Eventually, he reached a vast forest—so deep and thick that sunlight barely touched the ground.

  He set up traps along the way, hoping to catch small animals for food.

  His luck betrayed him.

  Every snare came up empty.

  Every trap lay untouched.

  By evening, exhaustion pulled at his limbs.

  He climbed a small hill, found a flat rock beneath a dying tree, and sat down heavily.

  The forest was quiet.

  Not peaceful—just indifferent.

  Samye stretched his legs, wincing as pain radiated through his injured foot. He leaned against the tree and let out a slow breath.

  Night came quickly.

  Stars shimmered faintly overhead.

  Samye stared at them with tired, burning eyes.

  He whispered softly:

  “…Little brother… I really wish you were here.”

  The wind moved gently through the leaves.

  Whether it answered him or not—

  he couldn’t tell.

  He closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift into a restless sleep under the cold forest sky.

  Alone.

  But still moving forward.